


Cheap Tricks

by Fanficter123



Series: Mob Boss AU [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Idk probably a billion more pairings, M/M, Mob boss Bruce Wayne, Prostitution, Thug Life, but actually just an excuse for porn, this is just going to be really dark and gritty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-19 01:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3590541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanficter123/pseuds/Fanficter123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU.  Tim Drake is just your typical street rat, turning tricks and stealing to get by, when he finds himself suddenly thrust into the fast-paced and rich life of Bruce Wayne's mob.  He knows he should get out before he becomes the next floater in the Gotham harbor, but he's never been very good at doing what he should.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The leather armchair is stained from blood and come, but Tim sits in it anyways. Thin, feather-light fingertips trace down the seam of one armrest, his other hand slowly spinning the two-hundred dollar bourbon in its crystal glass. The light of the moon shines in through the wide bay window to his back, and if he were to turn around, he'd get the best view of Gotham money could buy. But he doesn't turn around, his eyes are focused on the unmoving lump on the bed, and the way the sheets rise and fall softly with each breath taken.

He feels odd here, surrounded by all this wealth, like he's a stranger who doesn't belong. How long will it be before someone realizes that he's nothing but a farce, and takes it into their own hands to see him swimming at the bottom of the harbor? The thought sends a trill of excitement though him, the same kind he used to get in the old days, but it's all for naught because he  _does_ belong here, and that's the oddest part of it all.

Tim kicks back the bourbon with practiced ease, savoring the way it burns all the way down. Then he stands, and lets the plush white bathrobe drape off his shoulders and fall gracefully to the floor, bathing his bare skin in moonlight. The figure in the bed turns over, as if knowing exactly what's running through Tim's mind, and the young man just smiles coyly, “Round two?”

\----------------------------------------------------

He was 16 when his parents died. Too young to be out on his own and too old for adoption to even be on the table, Tim Drake was unceremoniously shoved into the ugly world of the Gotham foster care system. He wasn't a bad kid back then, maybe he talked a little too smartly or didn't listen enough for his own good, but everything about him was as clean as could be. It was no surprise when that didn't last.

Maybe it was because he came from a well-off family, or maybe the other kids in the system just didn't like the look of him, but two weeks into his new home found Tim with a perpetual black eye and bruised up ribcage. He learned to defend himself pretty quickly, and had even managed to get most of the boys to leave him well alone when one night his foster father let himself into his room and put a hand over his mouth.

It didn't go anywhere, but only because Tim didn't let it. He threw what clothes he had into a bag and was out on the street the same night. Anything that was left of the prim and proper kid from upper-Gotham was gone after that. He learned to cheat and steal, how to survive a frozen winter's night with nothing but a few newspapers and a cardboard box, what kind of looks to use when you wanted a guy's wallet, and what looks to use when you wanted his  _attention_  too. He started turning tricks when he was eighteen, and found he liked it better than some of the dirtier jobs he'd done on the streets. No one had to get hurt, and although there were always a few assholes out there, for the most part he made good cash without too much trouble. It wasn't glamorous, but no one would ever be able to take away how he felt the first night that he was able to rent his own hotel room with the money he'd  _earned_.

He made decent cash, but not enough to live on if you wanted more than one meal one meal a day, so the thieving never really stopped. Sometimes it'd be harmless pickpocketing, other times he'd put a knife to some poor soul's back and promise to cut them open if they didn't hand over what they had. He never made good on that promise, but none of his marks knew that, so it usually ended in his favor. And when it didn't, he still knew this city better than any of them, and could disappear into a dark alley before they had time to yell 'police'. All in all it was a good deal he had going on, good as any street-kid like him could expect, so moving up in the world was never really on his mind. That was what made running into  _him_  all the more shocking.

Tim was down at the docks that night, about a mile away from his usual haunts. The market had been dry the last few days, and he was running low on funds fast. Winter was just starting to set in, the ground was frosted with it, and the idea of sleeping out in the cold again was enough to drive him out of familiar territory in search of fast cash. The docks were a popular place to pick up a cheap trick, but it wasn't Tim's usual customer base. Mostly sailors and fisherman, back from days or weeks out on a boat with only other men for company; it was no surprise that many of them went looking for the warmth of a woman's bosom as soon as they hit dry land. Tim's clients wouldn't be at all bothered by the idea of spending a few weeks on a boat with other men, so most of the guys out shopping around out here didn't even bat an eye at him.

By the time midnight came and went, Tim was just about ready to call it a lost cause. That was, until he saw  _him_. He was tall, dark, and exceedingly handsome, with a square jaw and features that suggested  _refinement_. He wore a dark trench-coat, but under it Tim could see the expensive black suit he wore. Guys like that were never down in these parts of town for work, so as he approached the building Tim was leaning against, the Tim gave him his best sultry smile.

It bounced right off the stranger as if Tim wasn't even there, and the man just walked on by. The youth huffed, throwing up a middle finger in the man's wake, so much for easy cash. Still, the guy obviously carried some weight, so Tim waited a few more moments before pushing off the wall and tailing him casually. Mr. Big and Handsome didn't even look back over his shoulder, which either made him stupid or careless, and was headed right for the underpass, arguably the best place to get mugged. It should have sent warning bells off in Tim's head, but the thought of a warm bed for another month pushed him on. As soon as the darkness of the bridge shadowed them both, he put his knife to the man's back and growled out in the most threatening tone he could muster, “Your wallet, now.”

The man stopped, and for a moment Tim thought he was frozen in fear. Then suddenly one hand was around Tim's neck and the other gripping his wrist so hard that the knife clattered to the ground. There was something like sick satisfaction in the stranger's blue eyes, and for a moment all Tim could think was ' _this is where I die_.' He swallowed, and the hand around his throat tightened in response. That drew an involuntary squeak that was half a moan.

Just like that, everything turned on its head. The glow in the stranger's eyes shifted from sadistic to hungry, which had Tim's blood boiling in return. He'd been around the block enough to know exactly where this was going, so it was no shock when the man let go of his wrist to pull out his wallet. “You want  _this_?” he asked, and his voice was as dark and heavy as every teenage fantasy Tim had ever had, “Then you're going to have to  _earn it_.”

He didn't need to be told twice, and was already on his way down to his knees when the hand on his neck moved to grip his unkempt black hair, “Not here,” the man said, dragging him over into the darkened alley beside the underpass. Tim let himself be manhandled, used to the rough treatment. He still wasn't wholly convinced that the man was even going to pay him when this was all said and done, but part of him didn't care. He hadn't been this turned on since he'd started working the corners, which probably said something about his shot self-preservation instincts.

The stranger forced Tim to his knees so hard he'd have bruises tomorrow, and without even being asked Tim fumbled open the man's belt and pants. When he took the guy's cock into his mouth, the stranger groaned and yanked Tim's head forward until he had to struggle for air. It took a moment to adjust to the length down his throat, but he focused on his breathing for a few moments and soon enough he was moaning and drooling as the stranger fucked his mouth. He could already taste precome on his tongue, and when he glanced up through half-lidded eyes he could see that his intended mark was enjoying this just as much as he. The guy's steely eyes were staring down at Tim cold and hard, but the half-sneer on his face wavered just a fraction every time Tim swallowed around his cock. Tim tried to reach between his legs to paw at his own erection through his jeans, but the man saw the movement too quickly, and wrenched Tim's head back to hold him in place. “ _No_ ,” he said, and there was absolutely no doubt that his order carried the weight of a threat in it. That only made Tim harder, but he obliged like a good boy and kept his hands at his sides as the man went back to fucking his mouth.

His jaw was starting to ache, and his throat burned with each thrust, when finally the man's hips stuttered and he pulled out, just in time to drape Tim's face with come. The younger man licked it from his lips seductively, but the stranger already seemed bored. He zipped up his pants and took out his wallet once more, fishing out a hundred and dropping it in front of Tim. Then, after a moment, he took out a card and held it out between to fingers. Tim took it cautiously. “2pm,” the stranger said, “Don't be late. And take a shower.” Then, just like that, he was gone.

Tim took a moment to recuperate. He was still achingly hard, and now that he was finally able to touch himself he couldn't help but buck into his own hand as he examined the card the stranger had left behind. It was simple and white, with two lines of text in simple font.

_'Bruce Wayne'_   
_'1400 Saint St, Ste #2400'_

Tim wiped his mouth and looked up, but there was no sign of the strange man. He turned the card over a few more times in his hands, willing it to reveal whatever secret message it held, but there was none. Maybe the guy had liked what he'd gotten and wanted a round two? Maybe it was a trap, but then why go through all of this trouble when he had Tim exactly where he wanted him only moment's ago? The possibilities swam through his mind, and made him buzz with excitement. Mo matter what this was, one thing was for sure-- there was no way in hell Tim was staying away.

He snatched up the hundred, shoved it and the white card into his pocket, wiped his face clean with the sleeve of his hoodie, and started the long trudge back home.


	2. Chapter 2

Tim didn't have a computer, so he couldn't satiate his curiosity over the stranger by looking up the name on the card he'd left behind. He'd considered waking up early the next day and going to the library, but the last time he was there he'd jacked the collections box money when no one was looking, and he was probably better off not showing his face there again for a few more months. When he got back to his hotel room he found one of his regular clients waiting, and a twenty was slipped into Tim's pocket as he invited the guy inside. He didn't technically need the money now, considering how generous tonight's dark stranger had been, but Tim welcomed the distraction anyways. It should have kept his mind off tonight's strange events, but instead he just found himself imagining it was the stranger's hands on him, plowing him into the mattress and painting his insides with come.

When it was over his client lit a cigarette, and Tim ushered him out, complaining about smoke in his apartment. In truth, he just needed some time to himself, and soon enough that strange white card was back in his hands.

“Bruce Wayne,” he said, trying the name on his tongue, and then frowning. It sounded somewhat familiar, but only in the way something you had learned as a child would. Tim shook his head and set the card on the nightstand, then rolled over and went to sleep.

He hurt the next day, no surprise. Still he forced himself up and into the shower, where he washed away all signs of last night's activities. He cleaned his hair and combed it out, it draped messily around his face, reminding him how long it had been since he'd last cut it. Then he grabbed his nicest pair of jeans and a mostly-clean hoodie, and headed out into the city. Saint street was in the financial district, where all the suits did their white-collar crimes. Tim almost never went there, the police in that area weren't too keen on his kind, and he was more likely to get a beating than a good time. So when he stepped out of the subway platform and caught the nasty look from an officer lounging nearby, he just ducked his head and kept walking. If he kept to himself, hopefully no one would pay him any mind.

1400 Saint street was a building 24 stories tall, and what would you know, he was headed all the way up to the top. The security guard at the main desk stood up as Tim entered, hands on his belt as if to dare him to try anything. “I'm uh,” Tim started, suddenly realizing he had no clue how he was going to talk himself into the elevator, “I'm here for Bruce Wayne?”

“Sure you are,” the man sneered, “And I'm the queen of England.” Tim bit back the smart retort to that, and instead fished through his pocket for the white card. He held it up for the guard to see, and the man's eyes narrowed in suspicion. “The hell did you get that?” he growled.

“From Bruce Wayne,” Tim lied casually. He didn't actually know if the man who had given him the card _was_ this Wayne fellow, but it seemed that was the name to throw around. “And if you don't let me through you can explain to him _yourself_ why I was delayed.”

It seemed he'd said the right thing, because the guard's face turned a shade whiter, and he stepped aside, mumbling a warning about starting trouble. Tim just waltzed past and into the elevator, collapsing against the wall with a sigh as soon as the doors closed. He'd made it over the first hurdle, but who knew what was in store for him now? How long could he keep up the act before someone threw him out the 24th story window?

The elevator doors opened to reveal a small room, one door and no windows. The door didn't even have a handle, just a keyhole, and when Tim approached it and gave it a little push, it stood as still as if it were painted to the wall. He glanced around, scanning the ceiling for cameras that he couldn't find, then he took a few steps back out into the center of the room, spun around, and went back to the door to knock. No one answered, and after a moment Tim started to feel stupid, so he went to sit in one of the chairs gracing the walls. The clock said 1:50, and fifteen minutes later he was still just sitting around. Beginning to feel played, Tim's foot tapped the floor impatiently. Maybe the guy was just fucking with him as revenge for trying to mug him; Tim was about to get up and leave when the door finally opened and a man stepped into the room.

It wasn't the same man from last night, this one was younger, a little shorter, and not at all dressed like he belonged in some office. He looked more like hired muscle, and his tight-fitting black shirt showed off the lean definition in his arms. Tim couldn't help but gnaw at his lip in anxious excitement, if everyone here looked lake _that_ and the dark stranger from last night, he was in the right place.

“Who the hell are you?” The guy asked, looking at Tim as if he really _might_ throw him out the window if he didn't like the answer.

“Tim-- Tim Drake,” Tim stuttered, jumping to his feet, “I'm here-- Bruce Wayne, I'm here for Bruce Wayne.”

The new guy sneered, “Yeah? That what you told the man downstairs? You didn't think he'd call up and let us know exactly what you were on to?”

Tim felt his stomach drop all 24 floors; so he was already caught in the lie, “I'm not ' _on to_ ' anything,” he said, proud of the way his voice didn't waver when he actually felt so very, very _fucked_ , “I'm here to see Bruce Wayne, I have a card--”

“Yeah, I know. So you swiped one of the boss' business cards, whoop-de-fucking-do,” new guy looked angry now, and Tim could feel his moments left on this Earth ticking down quickly, “Why the hell would he want to see some punk-ass kid like you?”

“Must have liked what he saw,” Tim snipped back, feeling braver for every moment that he felt closer to death. After all, he rationalized internally, you couldn't be reckless if you had nothing to lose. “I'm already five minutes late because of you, and last I checked _you_ weren't in charge. So why don't you take me to the boss and let _him_ decide what I am?”

A moment passed in silence, and Tim kept waiting for new guy to stalk over, grab him by the back of the neck, and drag him over to the nearest open window. But then he started to laugh. “You've got spunk, kid,” he said, motioning Tim over with a jerk of his head, “Let's go, you said it yourself-- you're already five minutes late.”

Tim was led through the door, which opened into a hallway with—surprise—more doors. New guy took him down to the one at the very end, then held up a hand to stop Tim from progressing as he opened it and peeked in, “Your two o'clock is here, Boss.”

“Thank you, Jason,” said someone on the other side, and Tim shivered involuntarily. He couldn't mistake that voice, it was the same one that had ordered him not to touch himself last night. The dark, handsome stranger. “Send him in.”

New guy—Jason—turned back to Tim and nodded, stepping aside. Tim strode in with as much confidence as he could muster, and was only a little disappointed when Jason closed the door behind him without following. At the very least that seemed to suggest he hadn't been called here just to get his ass handed to him.

Bruce Wayne sat at a mahogany desk, looking over some papers as he sipped casually from an auburn liquid in a glass. He didn't even look up at Tim as he entered. A few more moments passed in silence this way, and Tim began to shift. He didn't like being led around like a dog on a leash, so he finally spoke up, “If you're just going to sit there, I'll go. You don't pay _that_ good.”

Bruce paused and set his papers down, then looked up at Tim with a hard look that made the boy's blood run cold. “You made it past the front desk,” he mused passively, “Using my name as weight, that was well-conceived.”

“Yeah well-”

Bruce cut him off, “And you convinced Jason to let you in, so maybe you're better for more than just a _quick trick_ after all. It seems my intuition was right, as usual. You may be worth keeping around.”

Tim didn't like where this was going, “If you're offering to _buy me_ , the answer is no,” he said, “I'm no one's keptboy.”

Bruce stood, and Tim took an involuntary step back. “You'll be whatever I tell you to be,” he said, and by his tone of voice, Tim had no doubt he'd make good on that. Wayne didn't seem like the kind of guy you said no to. “But I'm not interested in just keeping a slut around,” he crossed over to the windows overlooking the city, “Come here.” Tim did as he was told reluctantly, keeping just out of Bruce's grasp. If the man noticed, he didn't comment, “See that?” He motioned with a wave of his hand to the view of the city before them, “I own this, and what isn't mine will be soon enough.”

“You own Gotham?” Tim laughed, thinking it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. No one owned Gotham, the whole city was too much of a wreck for even the government to keep a handle on. Bruce was clearly out of his mind.

“That's right,” Bruce continued, as if he was explaining something to a small child, “I suppose a _rat_ like yourself wouldn't be aware of the puppeteer strings pulling you around, so perhaps a small demonstration is in order. Look down, do you see that policeman standing on the corner of Ellis?” Tim hummed an affirmative and Bruce continued, “Watch him.” Bruce turned and returned to his desk, picking up his phone and dialing a number. “Hello Commissioner. You currently have an officer stationed on the corner of Saint and Ellis. Tell him to look up at my office and wave at my newest employee.” For a moment nothing happened, then the officer on the ground moved as if listening to his radio. He turned towards the building Tim was in, looked up, and waved. Tim swallowed.

“As I said,” Bruce spoke from behind Tim, his breath hot on the younger man's head, “I own this city.”

“Okay,” Tim relented, “So maybe you've got the police in your pocket, what does that have to do with me? If you _own this city_ , why am I here?”

Tim could see Bruce's smirk in the reflection on the window, “You're versatile.”

“What, because I went from robbing you to sucking your cock?” Tim huffed, rolling his shoulders to get a feel for how much space was between him and Bruce. It wasn't much, he brushed the front of Bruce's suit every time he moved. “That's not being versatile, that's life. I've turned tricks for a dozen other guys I meant to rob.” None quite like last night, but he didn't say that out loud.

“Maybe,” the older man admitted, “But not many would take it as eagerly as you.” Bruce's hand cupped Tim's hip, holding him in place, “They aren't as... _hungry_ for it.”

Tim licked his dry lips, “So what? You pick my clients for me and then skim a bit off the top? I don't need a pimp, thanks.”

“I pay better than any _pimp_ would. Five-hundred a week, to start, and you get to keep any extra tips or trinkets you pick up. I'd take the offer, unless you actually enjoy living in come-stained hotel rooms, sucking cock just for your next meal ticket.”

“Maybe I do,” Tim snipped back, and he let a moment hang between them in silence, as if he was actually contemplating this at all. He'd known from the moment he stepped into this office what his answer would be to _anything_ Bruce offered him. “Fine, okay. Maybe I like the sound of what you've got, but I'm still fuzzy on the details. You just want me to turn tricks for whoever you snap your fingers at? How often are we talking?”

“Whenever I call you--”

“I don't have a phone.”

“--You _will_ ,” and Bruce's grip tightened on Tim's hip, a small reprimand for interrupting. Tim couldn't deny the way the rough hold turned him on, but he wanted more, wanted to really see how far he could push this Bruce Wayne before he got backhanded to the floor. “You'll turn tricks, steal, you'll do whatever I tell you to _when_ I tell you to, and you won't backtalk or run your mouth.”

“I don't know about that last one--”

Bruce cut him off swiftly, “But that's _if_ I hire you.”

Tim tried to turn, but the hand on his hip kept him in place, “ _If_? You just made me an offer.”

“And I can rescind that offer. Rescind,” Bruce's tone was condescending, “Do you know what that means?”

“Take away, revoke, _repeal_. I'm poor, not stupid.” Tim finally tugged free of the older man's grip and took a few steps away. He didn't like being treated like an idiot. “You can call me a _slut_ or a _whore_ or whatever derogatory phrase comes to mind, but don't treat me like a child. Or _I'll_ take the offer off the table myself.”

Tim half expected Bruce to snap and kick him out for that comment, or maybe just grab him, throw him over the desk, and remind him just _who_ was calling the shots here. Instead he just smiled, and for some reason that unsettled Tim more than anything else. “Good,” the man said. “Now show me the other side.”

“Other side?” Tim repeated dumbly.

“Yes. _Versatile_. You've proven yourself strong-willed and quick, so show me more of what I saw last night. _Seduce_ me.”

Tim laughed as if he hadn't been waiting for this moment since he'd woken up this morning. His blood burned at the thought of being on his knees for this powerful stranger once more, but he didn't offer himself up easily. “Why don't you _make_ me?”

That clearly hit the right tone, because Bruce growled and closed the distance between them, grabbing Tim roughly by the arm and shoving him forward against the glass. He could see the city 24 stories below, and for a moment a sense of vertigo overcame him, but it was washed away quickly as Bruce's strong hands yanked open Tim's pants. “Didn't realize you were so--” Tim gasped as Bruce' hand wrapped around his cock and gave it a good squeeze, “--eager. Not even going to buy me dinner first?”

“Shut up,” Bruce growled, but Tim could feel just how excited his backtalk was making the other man when he hitched his hips back. “You really are thirsty for it,” the older man continued, his hand working Tim's cock so fast that Tim was actually having trouble keeping up, “Look how hard you are already.”

He _was_ hard, and with his face pressed up against the glass as it was, he knew he was practically on display for the whole city. Sure, they were probably too high up for anyone to _really_ see what was going on, but knowing that anyone with good enough eyesight or a pair of binoculars could look up and see how wanton Tim looked with Bruce's hand around him only made him harder. He moaned and tried to thrust into the hand around his cock, but Bruce held him still, forcing Tim to go at his pace. He couldn't really complain, Bruce was working him over as if _he_ was the one turning the tricks for a living, and Tim was just along for the ride. The younger man squirmed and begged, running his mouth with every filthy vernacular he could think of in the hopes that it would make Bruce lose the carefully constructed control he so clearly had. By the end, he was just begging. “Please, please, please please _please_ \--” Tim jerked with a cry, his come splattering against the fogged glass. Bruce released him, wiping his hand on the front of Tim's hoodie as if he were a rag, and if Tim hadn't just come that would have made him hard all over again.

The younger man turned and dropped to his knees, reaching up to Bruce's belt. He paused submissively, looking up at Bruce through long lashes, “Let me?” he asked, his voice begging. Bruce nodded, and Tim eagerly undid that belt and pulled down the zipper to get at the prize beneath. Bruce was hard and swollen, and Tim moaned as he took his cock in his mouth, as if it was the best thing he'd ever tasted. That got a grunt of approval and a hand against the back of his neck, guiding him. Even now Bruce controlled the pace, squeezing Tim's neck when he moved too fast, pushing him down when he went too slow. He'd jerked Tim off quick and hard, but when it came to getting his dick sucked he clearly liked to savior the moment. Tim just let him have his way, enjoying the way his own spit was dribbling down his chin with each thrust.

When Bruce came, he buried his cock so deep in Tim's throat that the younger man didn't even taste it as it went down. Then he pulled out, did up his pants, and crossed back to his desk. “You're hired,” he said, pressing a button on the phone, “Jason, we're done in here. Escort him out.”

Jason returned, and he manhandled Tim to his feet and dragged him out. Tim glanced back over his shoulder, but Bruce looked like he'd already forgotten about him, and was back to shifting through paperwork. Tim scowled, he was used to being discarded, but for some reason he liked it less when it appeared that he was nothing special to Bruce. He didn't let the thought bother him for too long, because when he looked back at Jason—or more specifically, _down—_ he noticed that Bruce's hired muscle was tenting in those nice black pants. “Need a little help with that?” Tim offered with a sultry smile, but Jason just laughed as he pushed Tim back out into the waiting room.

“Maybe next time, _versatile_. The boss'll be in touch.” The door closed, and Tim was alone again.

 


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't until Tim was back out onto the streets that he realized he hadn't left an address for Bruce. He hadn't even given the guy his name. For a moment he considered returning to the building, but one look back inside, at the big security guard glaring at him as if waiting for an excuse to beat him senseless, was enough to deter the young man and send him back towards the subway. He got back to his side of town, slipped the next month's rent under the owner's door, and realized for the first time that he actually had enough spare cash to buy real food. The room he was staying in had a small mini-fridge, and Tim stocked up on some less-than-fresh groceries from the gas station down the block. It was better than dumpster diving, and beggars couldn't be choosers.

It was a full week before he heard from Mr. Wayne's people again. When someone knocked on his door at half-past eight, Tim was expecting it to be a client looking for a quickie. Instead he was greeted by Jason, in a tight white shirt and black leather jacket. Tim barely had time to think of a response before the older man was pushing his way into the room. “How'd you know-” Tim began, but Jason cut him off.

“The boss knows anything he wants to know,” Jason shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and spun on his heels as he whistled softly, as if appraising the room, “What a dump. You really bring johns back here?”

Tim scowled and crossed his arms, doing his best to look completely unfazed by the much bigger man who had a gun peeking out from under his jacket, “Yeah, what of it? You here to assess my place, or to give me a message from Bruce?”

Jason's attention snapped to Tim, as if he had just said something offensive, “That's 'the boss' to you, or Mr. Wayne if you're feeling daring, got it?” He crossed over to Tim, and this time he looked the  _boy_ up and down as if appraising  _him_ . “Skinny, aren't you? You know how to fight?”

Tim wanted to remind Jason that being  _skinny_ was a side-effect of being  _hungry_ , but instead he just nodded curtly and said, “Yeah, I can handle myself well enough.”

“Well enough,” Jason laughed under his breath, and in the next moment he had Tim bent over with an arm yanked up behind his back. Jason pulled the arm a little higher, forcing a yelp out of Tim, and then let him go, “Well enough my ass. Why do I always get saddled with the worst jobs? Come on,  _Versitile_ , the boss has work for you.”

Tim perked up from rubbing his sore arm, “A job? What kind?”

“A  _job_ job,” Jason said mockingly, “Jesus, do you ever stop asking questions?” He drew back his jacket and pulled a second pistol from the inner pocket, handing it to Tim, “You know how to use one of these?”

Tim held the gun like it might try to bite him if he wasn't careful. He knew how to  _fight_ sure, but he'd never used one of these, he abhorred the idea of actually killing someone, “No, and I don't really think--”

“The boss doesn't pay you to think, just point and shoot, rookie. Safety is on the left, let's go.” Jason ignored Tim's babbled complaints and headed out the door, leaving the younger with no choice but to check the gun's safety and shove it down the waistband of his pants so that his jacket would cover it up. He ran outside to catch up with Jason.

“So… really, what kind of job?” This time he was completely ignored, Jason opening the door and sliding into the driver's seat of a black car. Tim opened the passenger side door, but was quickly cut off.

“Back seat, Versitile,” Jason said with a hint of amusement, “You haven't  _earned_ big boy seating yet.”

The bit stung, but Tim swallowed down his pride and slid into the back seat, “I have a  _name_ , you know.”

Jason took them out of the city, across the water and into a lesser known unincorporated town popular for its seedy nature. As far as anyone was concerned, it was still Gotham, but when you stood amidst the run-down houses and trashed streets, and looked across the bay at the bright and towering city on the other side, you knew they weren't one and the same. This was the kind of place you ended up when you couldn't turn tricks or make a living in the real city, and Tim slumped further and further into his seat as they drove on, hoping they wouldn't stop. He wasn't so lucky.

Jason pulled the car down a dark alley, the headlights lighting up two large men, at least seven feet each, and with arm muscles that were probably bigger than Tim's head all on their own. They looked like the kind of guys hired to kill a man, and if Jason hadn't given Tim a gun earlier, the boy would probably be thinking his number had just been pulled. “Who are they?” He asked, and his voice wavered as he spoke.

“Just keep quiet and do as I say,” was Jason's only response, and when he got out of the car Tim followed suit, trailing behind the other man as they approached the strangers. “Des, Don,” Jason made a wide gesture with his hands in welcome, “Mr. Wayne wanted me to express his gratitude for meeting on such a short notice.”

The shorter of the two, with dark skin that looked almost  _red_ under the streetlight, scoffed and said, “If he's so  _grateful_ , why didn't he meet with us himself? Instead we get saddled with his  _left hand_ ? Is this some kind of joke to him?”

“I assure you, gentlemen, Mr. Wayne means no offense.” Though Jason's tone was polite, he stood a little taller, as if trying to make himself seem more important. Despite how threatening and powerful Jason could easily look in his own right, he was dwarfed next to these two men. Tim wondered if that was, perhaps, why he had been brought along, to make Jason look better by comparison. “Seeing as you aren't allowed into Gotham City at this time,” Jason continued, “and the boss can't get away from his work, I'm here instead.”

The other man, with wild brown hair and a mean look in his eye, turned his attention on Tim, “And him?”

Jason glanced back, like he had forgotten Tim was there at all, and then smiled, “An apology from Mr. Wayne, for not being here personally.”

That made both men smile, and Tim blanch. “Come here, boy,” said the taller of the two. One glance at Jason told Tim that there was no refusing this, he'd fallen down the rabbit hole by accepting Wayne's offer of employment, and now he had to face the consequences. His feet felt like lead as he walked over to stand before Des and Don, and only the cold metal of the gun pressing against his stomach kept him from pissing his pants and running for the hills.

“An apology, eh?” said the smaller one, who still stood at least two feet over Tim's head. “What do you say, Des?”

“I say Mr. Wayne knows our tastes well enough to think sending us a cheap whore will make up for the insult of not meeting with us himself.” Des cracked his knuckles. Tim shivered involuntarily, which drew a laugh from the large man, “Your rentboy is shaking, Todd. He's not very well trained.”

Jason shrugged, “Mr. Wayne doesn't work in rentboys, I'm afraid. He much prefers the real deal, loyal boys like this. Timmy here is his new favorite toy, which is why  _he's_ the one Mr. Wayne sent.”

Don's large hand gripped Tim's hair and yanked the boy's head back, “Is that so? You like sucking the old man's cock, boy?”

Tim glanced at Jason in wide-eyed surprise, and the older man nodded, “Come now, Timmy. Be polite for our guests.”

Don yanked Tim's hair so hard strands were pulled from his scalp; the motion drew a yelp from Tim.

“Y-yes, sir.”

Behind him, Des chuckled coldly. Don's hand left Tim's hair, but before he could even begin to be thankful for that, the man slapped him so swiftly that his head snapped to the side, leaving him barely able to keep his balance. As soon as he turned his head back he was met with the backhand on his other cheek, this one powerful enough to send him staggering back into Des. The large man's hands found Tim's shoulders and stabilized him, then forced him to his knees as if he were nothing more than empty air under his palms. Don stepped forward and grabbed Tim by the hair again, yanking him up and forward and dragging Tim's face against his groin. “Why don't you show me just how the old man likes it, then?”

Tim lifted his shaking hands to the man's pants, unzipping his fly and slipping his cock free from its confines. His breath came out in tense exhale as he held the massive organ in his palms, and Don laughed, “Bigger than what you're used to, isn't it?”

Tim nodded dumbly, “Yes, sir.” He could barely get his whole hand around the girth of the thing, it was hot and heavy in his hand, all dark skin and thick veins. Tim's mouth watered and he licked his lips to wet them before looking up for instruction. That drew another laugh from Don.

“The little cock-sucking whore is asking permission,” he said to his companion, who was groping himself in his own pants, and looked to be just as big, if not bigger, than Don. “Go on, then. Open your mouth.”

Tim complied and was yanked forward, Don's cock forcing its way into his mouth. He barely got his lips around the head before he choked, and the large man pulled him back to allow him to gasp for air. Then he was pulled forward again, Don's massive cock pushing in as deep as it could. Tim's eyes watered and he breathed in deeply through his nose as Don held his head still and began to roll his hips in gentle thrusts. Each stroke pushed the man's cock further down Tim's throat, and though there was no way he'd be able to take it all, he got far more in than Tim would have ever expected possible. Tim's hands stroked what his mouth couldn't reach, and his own cock twitched in his pants, annoyed at being ignored. That seemed to be Des' cue.

“Get up,” the man said, and Don yanked Tim's head back to allow him to follow the command. He was manhandled to his feet before he could even try and stand on his own, and then Des grabbed him by the hips and dragged him back against his now exposed cock, rutting against Tim's ass. With Don's hand still in his hair, Tim was forced into a bent-over position, and forced down even further so that Don could go back to fucking his mouth in shallow thrusts.

Des' hands explored Tim's body until he found the gun, and he drew it from the young man's waist with a dry chuckle, “Your boy carries heat?”

Tim could see Jason shrug out of the corner of his eye, “Told you, he's not just some rentboy.” A moment later the weapon was tossed to Jason, who caught it and slipped it back into the pocket it had been in before he'd given it to Tim. Then Jason drew something small from his jeans pocket and tossed it to Des. Tim heard the tell-tale sound of a cap to a bottle of lube snapping open, and then the slick wet noise of Des lubing himself up. Even still fully clothed, Tim's asshole clenched in excitement for what he knew was coming. When his pants were yanked down to his knees, all he could do was moan.

“He's excited to take your dick, Des,” Don laughed.

“What a slut,” Des mumbled, though his excitement was clear. He pushed one lubed up finger into Tim's tight hole, and that alone was so big that Tim jerked and whined pitifully. Des worked him open expertly, but only so much that Tim wouldn't be howling in pain. Then he pulled his fingers out, gripped Tim's hips, and fed his cock into him slowly. Despite the quick prep, or perhaps because of it, the sheer size of the man's cock overwhelmed Tim and left him drooling and whining pitifully. If anything, Don only seemed to like this more, because he started to fuck Tim's mouth in longer thrusts, pausing every time he thrust forward so that Tim lost the ability to breathe for a moment.

The two men were so tall that Tim's feet couldn't even touch the ground. His hips were held up by Des, while Tim was forced to use his hands to keep him steady against Don. Soon enough both men were thrusting ruthlessly into him, and it was all Tim could do to keep up and figure out how to breathe. Being filled so thoroughly, and from both ends, only made his own manhood pulse angrily, and if he hadn't needed both hands to hold himself steady as Don fucked his mouth, he'd surely be touching himself earnestly.

The moans of pleasure that escaped Tim were in part to please the two men, and in part genuine enjoyment. He doubted he'd ever turn a trick for johns like this again, and despite the aches and pain in his mouth and ass, part of him didn't want to let this end. He'd keep taking their cocks all night long if it meant feeling this full.

“Tch, look at him,” Des said from behind Tim, “Taking cock so eagerly, bet you'd do this even if you weren't on Wayne's payroll, wouldn't you?” Tim could only moan in response.

“Fuck,” Don's hips stuttered as he thrust forward, and Tim knew the man was getting close, “Cock-hungry little slut.” He pulled Tim's head down until he was choking and squirming, “Shit, yeah, you're getting off on this so much, aren't you? Fuckin' whore. Do you want it on your face or in that hot mouth of yours?”

Tim tried to respond, but it wasn't until Don pulled out of Tim's mouth that he could speak. His voice was hoarse as he gasped, “Inside. _Please_. I want it inside.”

Don didn't need to be told twice. He pulled Tim back down onto his cock, and began to fuck his mouth in quick, sharp thrusts. Soon he was spilling over with a hissed curse, his seed filling Tim's mouth and dribbling down his chin. Tim swallowed what he could, but his own throat didn't seem to be obeying his commands. It had been thoroughly abused, and burned every time Tim swallowed.

“ _Shit_ ,” Des muttered, speeding his thrusts up, each one seemed to push his cock further into Tim, stretching his hole to its limit. With his mouth finally free, the Tim's moans and whimpers filled the alleyway, words like 'please' and 'more' and 'harder' escaping between raspy breaths. When Des yanked him down to the base and started to fill him with come, Tim hissed out a hoarse “ _Yesssssssss._ ” He could feel it dripping down his thighs as the man pulled out, and he was dropped to the ground, hard and filled with come from both ends. There was a lazy, content smile on his face, but it turned to a hiss of pain as Des grabbed him by the hair and yanked him back up. “Clean my dick while finishing yourself off,” he said, and Tim was more than eager to oblige.

He licked and sucked at Des' cock, tasting himself and the man's come while his hips fucked his own fist in desperate thrusts. It only took a dozen or so to send Tim over the edge, his come splattering the asphalt floor. Then, his use apparently fulfilled, he was tossed to the side like a used condom. Tim stayed on the floor for a moment, enjoying the cool touch of the ground against his abused body, and then he pushed himself up and started pulling up his pants. He glanced up at Jason. “Go wait in the car,” the man said. Tim would have scoffed, if he felt able. Instead he just limped back to the vehicle, opening the passenger door and collapsing in. ' _Big boy seat'_ be damned, he had _earned_ his keep, and Jason could fight him over it.

Jason spent another twenty-or-so minutes talking to the two men, Tim lost count and couldn't really be bothered to care. Everything hurt, and he wavered in and out of consciousness as he waited for the older man to return and drive him home. He didn't notice he was no longer alone until the car door slammed shut, making Tim jump slightly. Jason looked pleased. They pulled out into the street and away from the two hulking men, and Jason pulled out a bottle of water and handed it to Tim.

Tim chugged half the bottle before finding the strength to speak. “So what happened?” he asked, his voice still raspy.

“That's none of your concern,” Jason replied, “You did your job just fine. That's all that matters.”

Tim snorted and held up the water bottle in a mock toast; he didn't really care either way, Jason was right-- he'd done his job. The business aspect of whatever had just gone down was above his pay grade. He hovered in and out of consciousness a few more times on the way home, and it wasn't until they were pulling up in front of his hotel that a thought occurred to him. “Hey, if I was just there for a trick, why give me the gun?”

Jason frowned at Tim as if he'd just gotten an obvious question on a test wrong. He pulled over in front of Tim's room and pulled the gun back out, pressing it into Tim's lap, “You don't go _anywhere_ without heat, understand? I want you to become best friends with this gun by the next time I see you. If you get killed, or _damaged_ , because you don't use it to defend yourself, the boss'll be pissed. And if the boss is pissed, _I'm_ pissed. You don't want to see me pissed.”

Tim chuckled half-heartedly, “Maybe I do.”

“Get out of the car. Oh, and _Versitile_ ,” as Tim was getting ready to close the car door, Jason held out a bottle of pills. Tim took it with some confusion, and Jason continued, “Take two of these and get some rest, unless you want to feel like you got nailed by two semi-trucks tomorrow.”

Tim smirked, “You mean I _didn't_?”

“Go the fuck to sleep, Tim.”

The young man slammed the car door shut and watched it screech off. The smirk stayed plastered on his face all the way back into his apartment.

 


End file.
